


The Golden Ratio

by ArmsShanks



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cryptid OT3, M/M, Monster/Hayseed/Junkenstein, Slice of Life, hype botany action, themes of mental illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-11 01:49:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16466396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmsShanks/pseuds/ArmsShanks
Summary: Science and coping mechanisms and learning to spend time in the sun.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mssileas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssileas/gifts).



> For Gigi, Thyme, and all the other writers I love.
> 
> (Based on [Gigi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssileas/pseuds/piggybackride)'s take on the [cryptid ot3](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1094295) au though not technically canon to it, used with permission.)

The doctor is in one of his moods again.

Even as he wanders the upper halls of the castle, Hayseed can sense the vibrating hive that is the lower level workshops, a maze of dark corridors lit by flickering electric lights and otherworldly blue vials. Now that the monster - their new friend and companion, Hog - walked and talked, the doctor has less need to be so obsessive in his work. He still occasionally buries himself in fits of productivity, burrowing deep into the ancient stonework humming with electricity and sharp alien smells. 

Hayseed does not know exactly what the doctor works on at these times; it’s far beyond him. If his creator doesn’t require an assistant, the scarecrow is much happier wandering the fields surrounding the castle, or lounging in slowly panning slivers of sunlight through the windows of the upper floors. It’s a less lonely passtime, now that Hog joins him to soak in the heat. His dark tussle of hair grows warm in the afternoon beams and his movements slow.

Unfortunately, Hog is less sedate when Junkenstein makes himself scarce. He wanders. His muscles were built to tear and smash and so he is less keen to sit around and wait for something to occupy him. He wanders the halls, huffing in a frustration that he can’t place. When he reaches the lower levels, it takes only minutes before he has touched something he shouldn’t or broken a horribly placed delicate chunk of machinery and is shooed out. Hayseed is left with the task of keeping Hog from roaming too far outside at daytime so people won’t see him. They may connect the massive green form to the goliath that steals away their livestock in the night, sowing terror and paranoia among the townsfolk. Hayseed has sway over Hog, but it is not always pleasant job when the larger monster gets in a mood.

It makes Hayseed tired. His body runs on straw and fiery magic that burns a sickly green at his very core, but the emotional intelligence that govern his actions regarding his companions is strained in these times.

He lacks the words to convey this to the doctor, as he watches the spindly man rush from table to table, taking measurements and making notes. He’s working on some manner of health serum, Hayseed has gathered from his mutterings. Hayseed watches for a time, more concerned with the angle the doctor’s spine has taken as he hunches over a bunsen burner. Junkenstein snaps absently at him when Hayseed takes it upon himself to remove a caustic jar from the ground, inches from Junkenstein’s twitching foot. Hayseed huffs and meanders back upstairs, footsteps feeling heavy for his light form.

Junkenstein does not come to bed that night. Hog wanders and does not return until the sun has crested the horizon. Hayseed does not need sleep, but he enjoys it. He can’t bring himself to settle tonight as he vibrates with worry until his fellow monster joins him in bed. He pets the restless creature soothingly, whistling the blood-stained face wordless tunes in its ear until it sleeps. 

The sun is degrees past its zenith when they rise. A quick peek downstairs reveals the doctor having passed out at his table, muttering fitfully in his sleep as a half-finished robotic creation twitches in its half life. Hayseed’s instincts tell him to bring the man up to his bedroom, but that may not go well. He admits a shred of bitterness as he heads back upstairs, but he has things to tend to as well, and he will not waste the day.

He passes Hog, already up and wandering. The smell of crackling ozone gets to him, Hayseed thinks, perhaps reminding the massive creature of its birth. With a thought, Hayseed touches its shoulder and Hog snaps to from whatever has him pacing. Hayseed whistles a high note and moves along, guiding Hog to follow him with a light touch on his arm. 

Hayseed enters the grounds and the breeze greets him with a pleasant touch of humidity. Hog seems to appreciate it as well, enough that he puts up with Hayseed piling tools from a small shed in his arms. 

It is not the first time that Hayseed has treated Hog to a tour of the fields behind the castle. They face away from the small village in great stretches, hidden by the stoney spires and superstitious reputation of their home. Hayseed has had as much time to do as he pleases with the land as its guardian and caretaker. Junkenstein may rule the castle, but the fields are Hayseed’s dominion. He’s filled a portion of it with a small vegetable garden for when the doctor wants to cook properly, but the majority of the space is filled with rows upon irregular rows of sunflowers. 

Selective planting and growing has brought some of them to the height of the Monster, and even more just above its head. Brilliant yellow starburst blooms are one of the only things that force Hog to look up, though his attention is never kept for long. He finds more entertainment in watching Hayseed, eyes drawn to his partner’s movements as he flits among the spindly things, cooing and whistling as he inspects the plants. 

Hog is wired differently. He searches out that which is alive, and that whose motions he can not understand. Perhaps it is that he is created in part to be dangerous that he doesn’t need to watch the tall green things whose slight swaying is easily explained by the breeze in his hair. He watches with some curiosity as Hayseed removes one of the older and drier looking flowers’ heads. Hog chuckles and pops a bloom off with just his thumb and is immediately scolded for the same action. He huffs.

Their tour is shorter than usual, but Hayseed pulls him to a new area just beyond the tall plants and beyond the shorter ones to a patch of regular old dirt and grass. A shovel is thrust into his hands; the tool is almost comically small compared to the monster. Hog tilts his head and Hayseed points to the ground. The scarecrow eventually shows the monster what he wants, having the larger one till and turn over the soil while hayseed removes larger chunks of grass and weeds from the mix. 

After the task of churning up the ground, Hayseed sits on it, grabbing the sunflower head he removed. Hog waits a moment before collapsing down with him, picking up his own yellow flower. Hayseed chitters and sets a small bucket between them. He begins tearing the vibrant petals out of the thing and Hog is only too happy to mimic him, causing Hayseed to wheeze with silent laughter at the mess of yellow shreds covering Hog’s intimidating green form. They’re left with the strange, bumpy and dark centres. 

Hayseed then crowds up to the bucket he brought and shows Hog how to run a hand over the remainder of the plant to knock loose little dark seeds. Some require more concentrated picking at, which Hog does not manage well with his massive fingers. Hayseed titters as the monster eventually just bashes the thing on the rim of the bucket, sending seeds everywhere.

When they’re done, Hayseed takes the bucket and carefully sets each seed into the overturned soil. He covers them back up, and sprinkles them with a small amount of water. Hog rests in the afternoon light, legs splayed and hands in the grass of the field’s border. He soaks in the sun for a time before Hayseed collapses over him, straw and burlap rough against his stomach. The scarecrow stretches over him and How returns the favor, running a large hand down his lithe partner’s back, soothing the creation into a boneless puddle.

The sun travels a few more degrees in the sky before Hog finally asks the question. “Why?” the rise and exhale of the word moves Hayseed, who turns to him with confusion, lenses whirring between Hog and the field they just worked. It clicks.

Hayseed leaps up and grabs Hog’s hand, making a show of trying to pull him to his feet. Hog laughs at his efforts for a moment before obliging. 

The silent creature is sure to gather Hog’s direct attention before holding up a seed. He points to the fresh soil as Hog’s sunken eyes follow. Hayseed them points to a patch a small distance away, one with small green sprouts. He then points to another with fresh plants. He finally points at the tall, fully grown sunflowers, holding up the seed to their crowns. 

Hog did not grow up. He was born as he was, and so in his brief life he’d never seen his companions change. It takes a moment for him to connect the concept of a life cycle that Hayseed shows him, painted in green and splashes of yellow. He stares at the flowers, and then down at his companion. Hayseed huffs beneath his mask, gesturing again to the plants. Hog grabs the blackened hand and holds it. The scarecrow tilts his head.

“You…” Hog exhales. He’s better at speaking now, but it still takes some time. “Make these. Create. Like Jamison.”

He didn’t expect Hayseed to be so taken aback by the statement, but the scarecrow stands stock still, mind buzzing like the insides of the castle. Eventually he shakes himself, full body rustling. He seems to protest, shaking his head and shrugging and avoiding eye contact all at once. Hog pulls him in and he can not resist the firm, all-encompassing hug that meets him. 

“Proud of… you.” 

Hayseed lets out something akin to a whine before accepting the affection and clutching Hog’s sides. 

Time paces forward with the slow roll of clouds and crying of the birds. The sun is setting, and Hayseed is feeling drowsy and heavy after the heat and praise. Hog’s hunger is slaked thanks to the previous night, and he seems amicable to retire as well. They walk back to the castle hand in hand, but something stops Hog. He walks up to a cluster of older sunflowers and deftly rips them out of the ground. Hayseed is shaken from his reverie and thumps his fist into Hog’s arm in protest.

“For Jamison. Show you make this.”

Hayseed relents and crosses his arms in a dramatic huff. He is unable to tell the monster that the doctor knows very well that he tends to the grounds, but Hog will not be deterred. Eventually Hayseed swats Hog’s hands away and uses a pair of shears to cut the plants off nicely about a foot and a half into the stem. He takes mental inventory of the kitchen to come up with a vase of the appropriate size. 

The doctor won’t be impressed by nature, but the workshop could use a little colour, he thinks.


	2. Chapter 2

Junkenstein sleeps.

The world is massive. An insect in goggles tries to make a negative meet a positive. People live, and people die all around him. He isn’t them, and he sees past the cycle. He breaks it. They can’t see him though- he remains the tiny insect scrabbling through soot and stone. His little bones rattle like teeth in paper skin easily coloured with bruises. Seen and yet unseen.

One day he dies. He rests in a matchbox of rotting wood held together by rusty nails. An insect needs no gravestone, and is merely scrubbed clean of. His fingernails scrabble at the seams where he thinks he can see light but-

His thrashing hand meets a sharp instrument and he yelps, tumbling out of his chair. His chest rises and falls in shallow breaths as he ignores the pain of the something or other he has landed on. He looks at the ceiling and it’s not unlike the wooden panels of his dream. The thought makes him close his eyes tight.

A second passes. Then two. Then twenty. He snorts derisively then draws himself to his feet. He needs to stop falling asleep next to his chemical set.

His eyes are immediately drawn to his desk, where he takes stock of what he was working on the day (or night?) previous. A dozen unfinished projects clutter the area. Attempts at improving his antiseptic formula mix with blood thinner ingredients and coagulants. Grease-covered tools weave among the vials as an experimental omnic sensory system sits unfinished, delicate and expensive parts dashed by his rude awakening.

He huffs and crosses his arms, surveying the space. He has so much to do and his hands twitch to work on each project in turn. How will he ever get them done? His ambitions twitch and squirm under his skin like hungry snakes and he turns to grab a tool from the table in the centre of the room to begin.

He’s stopped short by an unfamiliar sight. Though the colour is off due to the sterile blue light of his lab, those are undoubtedly sunflowers sitting in a vase on his table between the gears and combustants.

He pauses, then he taps his fingers on his arm. The blooms are cast a lime green but his eyes so accustomed to the space sees through to the rich buttery yellow. Obviously one of his companions has placed them there while he slept, but it’s still a peculiar development that he doesn’t quite follow the logic of. He frowns despite himself at the frivolous action they’ve taken. At length, he looks away, and he begins his work.

\---

The sounds of his stomach are drowned by bubbling liquid and he’s nearly drank from a  
measuring cup of caustic liquid several times. He should stop for food but he’s so close he can nearly taste it-

Glass shatters - a vial of liquid over the small flame heating it has burst and he curses, throwing things off his desk. He has too many items on the go and he’s ruined one of them through distraction. His most ambitious project is a healing elixir he’s dreamed of concocting: a mixture of common helpful remedies and immunity boosting elements that wouldn’t interfere with each other and would help most people. It was a long shot, that something of such a broad spectrum would help, sure, but it was something that would be big if he made it work. A potion like that would put him on the map as a doctor and scientist on a world stage, not just someone who treated the odd flu in a tiny village in the middle of nowhere.

It wasn’t working though. The few times he got the mixture resembling complete, he’d taken the liberty of testing it on himself. Every attempt so far had resulted in a less than pleasant sensation in his stomach.

He couldn’t even get it to stay down, let alone combine enough elements to help heal and prevent illness. He should quit being a doctor, he thinks, watching the sickly green liquid drip down from his desk. He can create life and yet he can not preserve it.

The thought of his created companions makes his stomach clench. He loves them so much it hurts. He tries to avoid thinking of them in these times; they deserve more of him than a scrawny shut in whose only clientele is too afraid of him to even call on his services. He thought he would be happy when his task of creating Hog was complete - and oh dear he is - but something still digs deep in him to do something for the world. Something to make them notice and admire him for his talents. Sure he could walk his beautiful creatures into town and tell the tales of their creation at his hands - perhaps he could even bring further bodies to life just to show proof of his work - but what good would that do? They would think him a witch and his lovers dumb beasts. Even if someone did take proper, academic notice of his accomplishments, where would that leave them? Hayseed and Hog, curious science experiments for the world to pick apart and recreate. The thought makes him shudder in revulsion and sneer.

He wants so, so badly to be more than he was. He stares across the room, blinking blearily. The sunflowers catch his eye, standing in stark contrast to the rest of the room.

_They’re too nice to me. It’s only because they don’t know anything else. I don’t deserve it._

He stares, he watches. Electricity crackles from another room. His eyes trace the lines of seeds that cluster at the sunflower’s core. The golden ratio, phi, the fibonacci sequence. He thinks of self-taught botany and mathematics classes out in fields while other children clung to their teacher’s every pedantic word. It had been such a simple thing, drawing spirals into plants to count the layers and find the repeating patterns, but it taught him that science and the order of nature were far more impressive and beautiful than any self-proclaimed god could design.

He falls asleep in his chair, steeped in memories of pinecones and daisies.

\---

It’s been a couple days, and the sunflowers are starting to wilt.

It disappoints him, despite the uselessness of the display. He’s moved back to working on the improved omnic design and wonders if this will be his worldwide calling instead. The little thing sputters and whirrs gently but has yet to follow his finger when traced back and forth before his eyes.

The spaces between his periods of consciousness are beginning to shorten as he barely manages to stuff a bit of stale bread and water into his mouth every so often. The drooping flowers remind him that his partners haven’t come down to see him in awhile, and it stings. They probably hate him for getting like this. The thoughts only fuel his need to accomplish something, _anything_ of note before he completes his self-imposed exile.

He flings a couple of already-damaged beakers into the wall to hear them smash before passing out once more.

\---

When he wakes up, something has changed.

He straightens with a start and a scratchy red blanket falls off his shoulders. The vase of sunflowers has somehow regained a modicum of its youth; Junkenstein notes that the water the plants rest in has been cleaned and refilled. A cup of water clearly from upstairs sits beside it, and he immediately moves to down it between his sleep-parched lips.

The empty room is silent, full of his own machinations. The sunflowers will likely perk up for a bit with some new water, but Junkenstein knows they will need sun to last for more than a couple days. Junkenstein draws in a deep, shuddering breath as he sets down the cup. The message is not lost on him.

He picks up the vase.

It’s physically difficult to leave the room. Fragments of thought and idea and necessity and unfinished tendrils of every dream he’s unable to complete cling at his ankles as he takes one heavy step after another up the stone stairs.

Jamison appears in the doorway a shell of a human. His skin is gaunt and his eyes are more sunken than usual. His glasses sit crooked on his nose and his clothing is rumpled and stained. He clears his throat awkwardly, gaining the attention of the two at the kitchen table.

Hayseed looks up, covered in batter, and he utters something between a shriek and a whistle of reeds. The light creature nearly manages to topple over the doctor’s frame, busy clutching the full vase. Hayseed immediately busies himself petting the doctor’s greasy hair and face, making soft noises of concern. Hog stands up from the table with the heavy scrape of a chair. Soon enough the vase is gently taken from him and the smaller pair are scooped up unceremoniously into Hog’s arms and Junkenstein lets out a choking noise so wretched it embarasses him down to his core.

Whatever food-adjacent abomination it was that the two are working on is promptly forgotten. Junkenstein can not bring himself to utter a word of protest, for apology or for explanation as he’s held against Hayseed’s chest against Hog’s.

Hog seems to have a mission as he carries them through the halls. Junkenstein clings tight to what he can and is blinded suddenly by the sunlight of outdoors. He is forced to hide his face in Hog’s chest, glasses smushed between face and pecs. Hayseed’s blackened hand runs down from the scruff of his neck and over the protruding bumps of his spine repeatedly, soothing him enough to force choked words from his tight throat.

“I’m sorry. I’m terrible a-at this. I just want to make s-something. Want to be worth... F-felt so close _so close_.” He swallows the lump in his throat but it refuses to disappear. “But I didn’t do _anything_ except waste time and _god I’m not good enou_ -”

Hog pulls him somehow closer, muffling his voice against dull green skin. Junkenstein takes the hint and falls silent save for his heaving breaths, heavy with the monster’s scent and the earthy smell of the fields they are being lead to.

The rustle of the wind in the tall plants around them mix with the barely-there sound Hayseed is producing at his back. Deft fingers loosen his lab coat by a couple buttons but it isn’t removed. The sun feels foreign on his pale neck and he feels both shy and starved at once.

Eventually they reach whatever location Hog is aiming for, and Junkenstein is slowly peeled from his position against the monster’s chest to look around. They are surrounded completely by massive sunflowers. Junkenstein has seen the fields grow from his bedroom window, but he rarely takes the time to get lost in the gently swaying maze.

“Look.” The word is quicker than usual, and Junkenstein suspects the monster must have been practicing. He blinks through his goggles up at the green snout but Hog just huffs and uses his meaty hands to gently turn the doctor’s head to regard the land around them. Hayseed has grown silent and relegates himself to burying his burlap face into Junkenstein’s side, vibrating lightly.

“Y… yes?” Junkenstein feels and sounds small. His voice comes off as terribly weak when it isn’t echoing off stone. The sky is infinite and alien compared to the roof scant feet usually above his head.

“Hayseed makes.”

Junkenstein blinks. Hog’s words are so steady that this must be significant to him. “Ah… yes. I had assumed he propagates the sunflower population here-”

“Takes time.”

The doctor hushes, settling in more and returning Hayseed’s embrace as well as he can in their awkwardly scooped position. Hay tickles his chin as Hayseed’s head finds its way to his chest and presses in. The closeness of his creations in contrast with the wideness of the outdoors makes him lightheaded.

“Takes water... Takes sun...”

Hog carefully sits and the trio unfurls only slightly as the two smaller individuals rest on his lap. Hog’s hand comes up, enveloping the entirety of the side of his creator’s head and scalp. Junkenstein leans into the sun-warmed skin.

“Takes _time_...”

The last word is breathed so low and carefully that Junkenstein feels the monster’s breath on his face. Another sob threatens to tear its way out of his throat. He holds back, instead sniffling and fidgeting until he eventually chokes out a laugh. “When did you get so wise, Hoggy?”

The monster huffs, moving his hand to absolutely ruin the doctor’s hair instead. Junkenstein sputters in mock offense and wipes away a tear as subtly as he can.

A light wind makes the sunflowers sway intermittently as the trio slowly relax, inch by inch letting go of their desperate holds and unwinding. Junkenstein is positioned on his back across the monster’s lap, lab coat tugged a fair ways open to invite the sun in. Hayseed’s head is on the Monster’s belly and he traces idle designs between his larger companion’s stitches. Hog leans back, eventually laying down in full, one arm on Hayseed’s hip and the other threaded through the grass. The rise and fall of his breaths create degrees of shade for the doctor.

It feels like hours pass before Junkenstein quietly brings himself to speak.

“I’m sorry.”

Hayseed shifts minutely but uncomfortably. Hog pats pats the smaller creature’s overall-clad side in support. Junkenstein takes a deep breath.

“You’re right. I need time. I need sleep and food. I need _you_. People are machines and they need fuel and maintenance. What I do is illogical and unproductive.”

He clutches his flesh hand with his mechanical, trying to keep from shaking. “It’s so hard though. To spend so much time and come away with nothing. To know that that’s all I’ll ever be to them.” He gestures in the vague direction of the town, and by extension, the world.

Hog takes a few breaths before he replies. “Jamison not important for people.” He thinks some more, choosing his words. “Jamison important for Hog. Important for Hayseed. _Perfect_.”

The admission of the fact that Junkenstein so prides himself on normally is a rush and a shame all at once. He hurries to respond. “But it’s not _enough_ -” and then he stops short, nearly clapping a hand over his mouth.

“I… I didn’t… that came out wrong.”

Hog huffs and lightly pats Junkenstein on the back, making his shoulders jolt forward. “Is enough. Jamison makes good work. Makes better work when happy, not hurt.”

Hayseed wriggles out of Hog’s grasp and puts his hands over Junkenstein’s, suddenly overbearing in his presence. His lenses whir inches from the doctor’s face as the silent creature bends over him and seems to want to say something badly.

Hog seems to get it. “We help. Want to help. Yes?”

Junkenstein suddenly finds his position unbearable and he pulls himself up to sit. He shifts and gathers himself a bit farther from Hayseed. Hog raises a hand to support Junkenstein’s back but the doctor leans forward and away.

“You really are so smart… so smart…” he murmurs to himself. Looking between the scarecrow and the monster, he shudders. “I can build and build but don’t know how to fix this in me.”

The three sit in uncomfortable silence for a moment. Hayseed looks unnaturally still while Hog’s face remains impassive. They’d never had much use for complex conversation in their strange relationship. He’s never truly been at odds with his creations. They always flowed as one. But this…

He has to make a concession. For them.

They deserve it.

“But alright. Alright. I need you… I mean…” He runs his hands through his hair. “Please help me. When I get like this. Please I… give you permission. Stop me. Help me. Do what you think is best. Because I do not always know.”

A moment passes. Hog is the first to react. He pats Junkenstein’s head as if in praise or perhaps hoping to somehow fix the defect in his mind and Junkenstein snorts at the absurdity of it. Hayseed seems pleased, staring up at him. The scarecrow’s lenses catch the sun, dazzling Junkenstein’s eyes and leaving little incandescent spots in his vision.

The words have been enough. They melt together again, and he knows they will do what needs to be done. Whether Junkenstein likes it or not.

He closes his eyes, though the light of the sun still casts his sight in muted red. His creations had grown. It was time he grew up with them. “I will be better for you,” he murmurs in his raspy voice, more to himself than them.

He’s surprised at the jabbing of a finger into his chest. When he cracks open an eye, Hayseed is staring at him hard.

“And… for me? I suppose.”

It’s a transition that takes time, but the scarecrow finally seems to relax. His arms encircle his creator slowly and he pulls them both down, horizontal once more, onto Hog’s lap. Hog lays back down as well as they resume, much as they always had.

Junkenstein watches as the sky turns from azure to orange. He does not deserve this kindness, but he swears to remember this and do his best to earn it.

The sun moves about as slowly as the lazy trio on its journey across the sky. Junkenstein mentally traces the outline of his family in his mind’s eye. They are all so different, and yet all so perfect when put together together. Complimentary and contrasting aspects combining and forging into something new and infinite. One plus one is two. One plus two is three. The petals grow at the right angles to catch the sun. The seeds spiral out. Three five eight thirteen. Gold in the fields and then in the stars. Everything in its place.

The air begins to chill when the first violent growl wracks its way through Junkenstein’s stomach, so loud it makes Hayseed jump. The lithe creature is up on his feet in an instant, pulling the doctor up and towards the castle for food, as if they hadn’t been lying still as statues in each other’s arms for hours. Junkenstein just laughs and beckons Hog to follow, not letting go of either of their hands. Soon he would find out whatever the pair had been attempting to make in the kitchen earlier, and then have to correct it into something edible. He looks forward to it.

Stars give way to stone and hunger to fullness. The texture of soft sheets beneath his back for the first time in ages has him moaning even before his companions make it clear what else he’s been missing out on. Hog still smells like the fields, warm as if he’d soaked in enough sun to last all night, and Hayseed seems lighter than air. He loves them. He loves them so very much.

And they love him. Even after his display. Even after his neglect. Even after his overt display of fallacy. Their god was so much less than godly, and yet they worshipped still. More than that, they want to _help_.

It would not be easy to change, he thinks as he drifts off to sleep among stitches and straw, but no good thing ever was easy.

He knows that more than most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [Thyme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyme_Basalt/pseuds/Thyme_Basalt) for betaing and Gigi for helping out. Part 2 in the next couple days.
> 
> (((also i do fanfic illustration and banner [commissions](http://armatages.tumblr.com/post/179557578348/armatages-icons-10-one-character-headshot) like the one here if you're interested.)))


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